Thy Master is Thy Lord
by leafiephoenix
Summary: Rin and Archer discuss Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew, only to find themselves having too much in common with the characters involved in the play, and how the discovery changed their lives. Based on the anime, pre episode 14.


_Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper_

_Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee_

_Such duty as the subject owes the prince,_

_Even such a woman oweth to her husband_

_Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,_

_And place your hands below your husband's foot,_

_In token of which duty, if he please_

_My hand is ready, may it do him ease._

_-The Taming of the Shrew, (5.2.136-139)_

Rin Tosaka narrowed her eyes in disgust upon reading Katherine's speech in her textbook copy of the Shakespeare play. This is the reason, she thought to herself, why male chauvinists still exist, much to her dismay. She harrumphed softly. Tossing the book away, she landed almost ungracefully on the bed next to her desk; frustrated. After a long, tiring day at school, she was hoping for some time to spend on her much delayed English Literature assignment without worrying too much about another attack. Nevertheless, she was forced to swallow a disturbing fact that Kate, the heroine, had lowered herself to a humiliating degree in the end – all when Kate had seemed to possess the charming ideals of a feminist. Much like Rin herself, perhaps.

"Shrew?" a deep, baritone voice chuckled sardonically.

Rin snapped her eyes open to find Archer leisurely seated at the desk she had previously occupied, nonchalantly flipping through the Shakespearean text. "Why, exactly, are you smirking like that?" she frowned.

"I can't see what you're so upset about. It's called "The Taming of the Shrew" for a reason, you know," Archer reasoned, with a haughty grin that could only be his. Rin's ears perched. "The shrew is meant to be tamed," he pointed out, an action which he immediately regretted. Rin was already staring at him the way she did when she first met him, which wasn't exactly a good sign. Instinctively, she sat up and retorted, "Yes, but Shakespeare could have opted for a better resolution after Kate's defiance! In the end, it all amounts to nothing! With regards to modern sensibilit--,"

"Shakespeare's idea of modern sensibility does not apply in the 21st century, Rin," Archer tried to reason gently, amused at his master's unusual response to the play. "You should know better."

Rin closed her eyes, fists at her sides, trying not to lose her temper. She made a mental point not to catch the play if it was transformed on stage. She would surely gag if she were to listen to Kate's lines being spoken – complete with the 'place your hand below your husband's foot' act. "It's a farce," she admitted in a half-whisper. Her shoulders hung low, her fingers now twiddling with the plait of her black skirt.

"Sorry?"

"It's a farce," Rin repeated, this time with more conviction, her eyes gazing straight into Archer's. He blinked twice, thrice, not understanding where his master was going with this. "This play," she began to explain, "was supposed to be farcical. It's supposed to copy out normal daily activities, but as audiences, we – no – I," she corrected herself, "don't have to participate emotionally with the characters. The characters aren't supposed to have searing, profound personalities. Well, at least I thought so," she confessed.

Archer placed the book back neatly on the table before crouching beside Rin's bed, sighing. "Rin," he started with a worried tone. "Are you saying that you see yourself as Kate?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she just glared at him with a seemingly furious intent.

"Alright, let me rephrase my question. Do you see Kate's personality in your own self?" he asked again, unaffected by her icy gaze. "Which angers you because as much as she has in common with you, she doesn't follow the route which you want her to follow?"

Rin flailed her hands dismissively, trying to extinguish the strange fear building up inside of her. "I can't judge myself, can I? The opinion will be positively biased," she replied carefully, intending to avoid the question entirely. At the back of her mind, she was positively sure that she too, was positively rambling. Managing a smile, she coaxed him. "What do _you_ think? And please, don't lie. I'll totally know if you are."

"Alright, let's start by making comparisons," Archer shifted for more comfort. Stretching his long legs on the floor, he leaned against the side of the bed with a suspiciously bothered Rin waiting anxiously to hear his dissertation. "Kate, initially she's a troubled, distressed woman. She believes in aggressiveness as a form of power..."

Archer heard Rin cough.

"Her supposedly authoritative father obviously adores Kate's younger sister, the beautiful Bianca more...because maybe Kate has made him as unhappy as she is," Archer paused, "and honestly..."

"Honestly...?" Rin's blue eyes glimmered in the dimmed light, urging him silently to continue.

"Honestly, you're not always _that_ distressed. In fact you're really calm under pressure, which I admire very much. Although," he half-smiled, "you could be very aggressive at times. But that's not necessarily a dreadful quality. Not when you have a huge responsibility to carry on your shoulders. And I don't think you've ever made your father the slightest bit unhappy. In fact, I'm sure he's proud to have a daughter like you."

Rin arched her eyebrows sceptically. Archer's words came off a little too scripted for her. "Uh-huh..." was her only reply, yet her Servant hadn't quite finished yet. "And honestly, I bet a thousand Biancas wouldn't be as pretty as you," he professed, teasing slightly, yet his face turned stern. "But that's just me. Not forgetting my honesty, of course," he rebuked himself in dry jest, upon witnessing the apparent blush on Rin's soft, ivory cheeks.

"In reality, it will be nearly impossible for Kate to change her headstrong, formidable ways in an instance, just because of a man, especially when that man is...Petruchio." Archer concluded thoughtfully.

Silence hung in the air for a seemingly endless time before she finally spoke. "An astute observation, but what's with Petruchio?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Rin," came his remark, complete with an egotistical smirk to boot.

"Impress me," she dared, unaware that she was swaying closer to him.

"He came off as this unerring disciplinarian. He was trying to outbully the bully, trying to coerce Kate into succumbing to him," Archer started, with an air of confidence which would pass him as an intellectual Professor of English Literature. Images of swooning, squealing, female students seated in Archer's classroom swamped her mind, which was shrugged off immediately.

"But," Archer contradicted, failing to notice Rin's discomfort of his budding intellectualism. "Kate, being the shrew, resisted throughout Petruchio's 'training'. They played tug-of-war, a full-fledged battle of the sexes of who could restrain the other. Little by little, Kate began to show compliance, but change was not merely on her side. Petruchio too, became an affectionate, charismatic gentleman," Archer smiled wryly. "This couldn't have happened in reality if he truly were an emotionless, undeviating Tamer -- thus deeming him a farcical character, which concurs with your 'farce' theory."

Rin gave Archer a sideway glance, crossing her arms, looking pissed. "Hmph," she breathed out. Archer could only shake his head to suppress a laugh. "What did I do wrong, Master? Thy humble Servant only tells the truth, just like his Master had ordered him to," he knelt on one knee, looking up at Rin, who seemed to be dissatisfied with his evaluation.

"I did not summon you to agree with me on everything," Rin snapped back.

Archer had wanted to remind her that she did use an Absolute Order for him to do just that, but he was smart enough not to say it out loud. Instead, he tilted his head and simply said, "Yes, Master."

"Call me a fool, or a crazy girl with an overly-active imagination," she said softly, "but I know when to separate between reality and some...farcical fantasy. This time though, I _honestly_ think that _life imitates art_, and now I'm scared."

Her second sentence was dictated with utter affirmation that he could not help but choke in..._choke in_ what? His lungs were tightening, the sudden propinquity became unbearably excruciating. Hell, he had appeared before her with the stride of an eloquent gentleman (albeit slightly cocky) with intelligent banter and quick wit. Incongruously, the million words he had wanted (or had always been prepared) to say now conveniently disappeared into thin air. The best reply he could muster was, "What?"

Not a 'What do you mean', a 'Sorry', or 'Excuse me'. Just, "What?"

She never had any experience of these strange feelings before. This...this was too extreme. It hit her like a pile of bricks. The reason of her fears, the reason why she was upset upon reading the text towards the end, the reason why she had panicked when Archer picked up the book. She knew somehow she should not have initiated the discussion in the first place, because she was now afraid of the consequences.

Rin had always recognized herself as a shrew, a hoyden, an ice queen, all rolled into one. While she knew that her father had loved her, she was not able to embrace that love like other normal people. Archer had commented that she was calm even in the most distressful situations. She'd had a troubled past alright. And then there was her aggressive, competitive nature, which was also instantly noticed by her Servant. She wouldn't even dare to deny the fact.

For the first few parts of the play, Kate was her hero for being way ahead of her time.

And Petruchio ruined everything.

Kate, the play, Rin's own messed life.

It was scary. It hadn't dawned on her at first, but the similarity was alarming. He was a direct, straight-to-the-point kind of guy. Unashamedly arrogant, it took her a wee while and an even greater power before he finally listened to her orders; before she succeeded in restraining him. But he was her Servant, alright. And she was his Master, and she had the provisions to make him obey her.

In this sort of archetypal acquaintance, it was he who was supposed to be uttering Kate's words to her. But even with her power over him – which made her the bully, she could sense his own rebelliousness, his attempts to 'outbully the bully', if using his words were acceptable. They had resented each other at the start – she had made it clear that he was not the Servant she wanted. He had ever-so-aloofly told her that she was an exceptionally talented Magi – but since the sentiment was not shared, he had resented her for resenting him – which soured the relationship further.

And so the battle for supremacy began – not the Holy Grail War, but to find a winner of dominancy. On paper, Rin was obviously the clear victor. But Archer wasn't exactly a typical Servant who would say "Yes, Master," 24/7. Especially not with her.

He had been there in the classroom. She swore she could hear him snort when the Shakespeare assignment was given, although he was invisible. He did not say anything about it afterwards. But today, he finally did. What had started as a light-hearted banter crushingly affected her in a million ways.

He had said that Kate slowly showed compliance towards Petruchio. Was she slowly doing the same for him? Kate won some sort of gratification and serenity by giving up her real formidable self while teasing away Petruchio's last remaining totalitarian facade. In actuality, Rin had come to understand that Kate really had won nothing but an acceptance of her new self – in which she had found joy, contentment and most importantly, someone who had more depth in personality after a period of latency; someone less formidable. Someone, who was capable to love and be loved without fear.

All Rin had ever wanted to win, though, was the Holy Grail.

_"Thy Master is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper," _Rin muttered under her breath, as if it was one of her spell mantras. Archer was still baffled, his mouth slightly agape, his "What??" question still unanswered.

"_Thy head, thy sovereign – one that cares for thee..."_ she continued on.

He took a sharp intake of breath and became asphyxiated. "Rin?"

"You're a farce, Archer. You speak of Petruchio as a farcical character because he was outrageously stern yet genuinely gentle at the same time, someone who couldn't have existed outside literary world. But what you don't realize is how similar you are to him, which puts you in the same category as Petruchio," she spoke again, now whispering hoarsely – probably a sign of her own inner conflicting thoughts. To add salt to the injury, she added, "You don't actually exist...in the real world at least."

"I care about you," she whispered. Tears began to well in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to deny that she was crying. They were merely a few inches from each other, yet the gap was never closed. It was evident that she was having a dreadful time explaining this sudden burst of reality check.

Now, he yearned to place a comforting hand at her shoulder and caress her cheek, or just a pat on her head. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do it because...

"You'll disappear. I know it," she mumbled.

To his surprise, Rin stood up only to kneel down next to him by the side of the bed, tantalizingly close. There was nothing he could do but breathe in her scent, or lose himself in the colours that always had looked so good on her. It was his own blindness that made him fail to appreciate the deep blue of her whirlpool gaze. The richly flowing raven-black hair bunched up in black ribbons. The black skirt and matching tight leggings which he very-only-rarely-ever took a peek of; because he was a gentleman despite her arguing otherwise. And red – the perpetual colour of her teasing turtleneck, the blood running through her veins, the jewel that had called him forth to this world – her world; making it possible for him to actually have a seemingly pointless discussion about Shakespeare with her...

Archer shuddered. It wasn't as if he'd never touched her – he had always carried her in their flights across the city. But of course, this was different. She was so near, begging to be touched; yet so far, tormenting him with one-thousand-and-one taboos if he were to cross the line.

"_Honestly_, Archer. Were you really talking about Kate and Petruchio? Or were you talking about you and me? Us?"

Words failed him utterly. She read right through him, with those blue eyes of hers. Unable to suppress his feelings any longer, he resigned himself to wrap her in his arms, resting his head in the crook of her neck. He could feel her heart beating fast, as was his. Her body went limp in shock. No one said a word until Archer reached down and held her cold, cold hands in his. She shuddered when she felt his breath on her flushed cheek, resisting when he placed her arms around his neck.

"Shh..." he whispered. "Just let me hold you like this for a while," he muttered. While they had never embraced each other in such an intimate fashion, he certainly had wanted to. Ever since he saw her tending to her hopes and fears, independently. She was strong, he knew that. Strong enough to create an untouchable, cold facade out of her inescapable loneliness -- in which he unwittingly became her guardian, her sentinel -- however hesitant she was to accept his service at first. Strong enough to survive the waves of cruelty from others who misunderstood her; strong enough to stick around and play with fire.

Fire. The same fiery substance that was flowing in his body at this very minute, pounding with the desire to mark her as his own, and give her the opportunity to mark him as hers. All hells break loose, he didn't give a damn. Archer turned her face towards his and leaned closer, their noses touching. Her eyes were hazy, believing that this was just another one of her childlike dreams.

Her mouth opened, yet no voice came. It formed a word he knew well – "Archer," she pleaded, which he quickly replied with words he had became particularly fond of over the period of their acquaintance:

"Yes, Master."

Personalities will clash, oh so very often, in farce or normality. But transforming personalities require a long, lingering, painstaking journey -- and willingness, however subtle, to change. Or it could be an unprecedented, sudden shock, moving the bullet away from its trajectory.

For Rin Tosaka, she had never truly changed – maybe she will always be a shrew; someone who has to have the last word or else. Neither did she win the Holy Grail, something she had been set out to do since she was small. In the eyes of a casual observer, she was a sore loser.

In essence, though, she had won, no matter how hard it was for her to accept the gritty fact. Since she first read The Taming of the Shrew in school, since she had that conversation with _him_, since _his_ almost-sacrificial (although he hated even the mere idea of sacrifice) death. Leaving her with nothing but the remains of her precious jewel and memories of his arrogant smirk.

She would probably never know if Kate's speech was meant to be spoken with true intent or mere sarcasm, but she had come to accept that Petruchio did remarkably change Kate for the better; hopefully bringing their battle for dominance to an admirable end – a balanced relationship, in spite of gender.

Something achievable even in a non-farce world.

The sun began to set, darkness enveloping Einzberg Forest. Saber was weakened terribly after her fight with Rider, and now Shiro, that stupid carrot-top idiot was caught off-guard, and of course, Rin just had to go and save him.

Reluctance is not a word you will find in Rin Tosaka's dictionary as she insistently dragged me along.

It had come to this, now.

We never talked of what happened that unfortunate evening in which we had our first academic discussion (and last, mind you). The night where we were supposed to have connected, body and soul, yet neither of us was brave enough to make it happen. It would hurt her, inevitably. In more ways than one.

I was never this grateful to never have completed what she had asked me to do, no matter how much both of us wanted it. Therefore, consider this last act as a poor proxy of what might have been.

_"Such duty as the subject owes the prince, even such a Servant oweth to his Master..."_

It had come to this. Berserker.

_"In token of which duty, if she please, my hand is ready, may it do her ease."_

Thank you, Shakespeare.


End file.
